


Fugue for a Kiss

by alphaparrot



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anthology of Affection, First Kiss, Fluff, I had way too much fun with this, Karaoke, M/M, Making Out, Music Theory, Turns out I'm a music theory nerd, date, musician au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27228895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphaparrot/pseuds/alphaparrot
Summary: It's a big day for Clover--so to clear his mind, he takes his cello on a hike. As he plays, he reflects on an early karaoke date he'd had with Qrow.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Fugue for a Kiss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Afoolforatook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afoolforatook/gifts).



> This is a birthday fic for [Afoolforatook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afoolforatook/pseuds/Afoolforatook)! Thank you for being awesome, and writing such wonderful fics and coming up with such lovely ideas :) This fic is heavily and directly inspired by Anthology of Affection, your various Musicians AU ideas, and all the fun convos we've had about music and music theory/literary analysis.
> 
> I also need to thank [delta_altair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delta_altair) and [thedarkpoet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedarkpoet) for beta-reading; you two are the best <3
> 
> While writing this fic, I listened a lot to this [Prelude and Fugue from Bach's 5th Suite in C Minor (BWV 1011) for Solo Cello, by Ben Hess](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qdCNdqonI7g).

Clover hauled himself up onto the rocky ledge, and then looked around himself as he caught his breath. He was halfway up the hill, surrounded by short, scraggly pines and low juniper bushes. Mats of lichen and moss turned the exposed granite surfaces of the hill into a patchwork of grey, pink, and green. Small birds fluttered between the bushes, picking at the ripe berries, their soft chirps and warbles the only accompaniment to Clover’s footsteps as he resumed his hike. 

It had rained earlier, and dark pools of water had collected in the divots and depressions that dotted the rocky surface. The rainclouds had however given way, and the sky was beginning to clear. Clover caught occasional glints of blue sky on the surfaces of puddles, as he kept his eyes low while he clambered up the slope.

It was not the easiest hike, especially with the cello he had strapped to his back in its travel case. But it was well worth it. Clover enjoyed the peaceful solitude of this remote point, and it was nice to have an opportunity to play without any risk of prying ears, or compliments that he never felt comfortable receiving. And the view was incredible--a view that lay before him as he pushed through the bushes and emerged onto the exposed rock outcropping at the top of the hill.

The sea stretched out to the horizon, glittering blue-green in the patchy sunlight that filtered through the broken clouds. Gentle waves lapped at the shore, several dozen metres below, and a light breeze ruffled his short hair. 

Clover took a deep breath, relishing the clean salty breeze, the crisp scent of the juniper bushes, and the familiar earthiness of fallen pine needles, wet and fragrant from the morning’s rain. He came here often, as an escape from the intensity of the city and an opportunity to center himself, clear his mind, and meditate. But he especially tried to set aside time for these hikes on days like this, when the earlier rain made everything so vivid, so fresh. He grinned. It was just his luck that today would be such a day. His stomach fluttered with anticipation as he thought of his plans for the day, and he looked forward to calming his nerves for a bit. 

Clover carefully set down the cello, unhooked his small, folding stool from the case, and pulled open the zipper, being careful that he wasn’t opening the case into any puddles. He drew the bow from the case and carefully tightened the bow hair, unwrapped his rosin, and gently pulled the bow across it. With his bow ready, he lifted the cello out of the case, sat on the stool, and began tuning the instrument.

Clover took another deep, satisfied breath as the instrument’s strings came into tune, his left hand making minute adjustments to the pegs as his right drew the bow across the strings. He had always found peace in the deep, warm sound of the instrument, ever since the first time he had drawn a bow across a string, as a small child in his uncle’s music shop. The first notes of a session always brought him back to that moment of joyful wonder. 

Clover held his bow over the strings and closed his eyes, allowing himself to dwell in the silence. He focused on the feel of the bow in his right hand, the smooth wood of the instrument’s neck in his left, and the cool firmness of the rock beneath his feet. The only sounds in the air were the gentle rhythm of the waves, the distant chirping of the birds, and the very soft resonance of the instrument as the wind flowed over the curving F-holes in the cello’s body. 

Clover drew the bow across the strings. His fingers moved across the fingerboard, pulling familiar notes from the cello, notes he had played countless times. This was a prelude and fugue he had learned as a student, and he had always been mesmerized by the way it was both quite simple, and yet full of complex layers, as the theme his fingers were now exploring would be developed, reimagined, turned upside down, and played against itself as the piece went on. 

As the cello sang its broad, clear tones, Clover felt its hum resonate in his chest. Almost involuntarily, he began to hum himself, smiling as his own voice matched the instrument’s, allowing the resonance to build until the music had filled him entirely. 

Clover launched into the first variation of the theme, and his mind began to wander. He thought back to an early date with Qrow, back when they were first exploring newfound attractions to each other. They had gone to a karaoke bar one evening after work--Qrow’s idea. He had heard Clover humming on one of their supply runs together, and had demanded to hear more. Clover had agreed, on the condition that Qrow sing for him as well. They had ordered drinks and rented a private room, sipping their ginger ale and root beer as they pored over the songbook. They had spent a solid fifteen minutes pointing out their favorite songs and gradually building a lengthy playlist--one they had abandoned almost immediately as inspirations struck. 

Clover smiled once more to himself as he began the second variation on the theme, his hand jumping faster now across the fingerboard, as a second voice joined the first, tossing the melody back and forth and adding responses and counterpoints. 

Back in the karaoke room, they had begun with some of their favorites, songs they each knew they could sing well. Clover had enjoyed showing off for Qrow, and Qrow had been similarly delighted to hear Clover’s sharp intake of breath as Qrow had begun to sing. Qrow’s speaking voice had a deep, gravelly quality, and Clover had expected his singing voice to be something similar--perhaps a voice well-suited to singing old folk ballads. Instead, Qrow had opened his mouth and sung with a clear, sweet voice, pitched significantly higher than Clover’s own deeper timbre. Qrow had wonderful intonation, hardly missing any notes, even in songs with challenging intervals. That made sense later in the evening, when Qrow had revealed that he had learned the violin as a child, and had continued playing as an adult.

Clover leaned into a high trill, and he remembered how his heart had skipped a beat when he heard Qrow’s voice, how he had swooned at Qrow’s delicate vibrato. He had almost urged Qrow to continue singing even after the song ended. But Qrow had insisted that Clover sing, and the hunger in his eyes had stilled Clover’s objections.

Sharing his music with Qrow was as intoxicating as hearing him sing. They had taken turns with the microphone, delighting in each other’s choices. Some songs were old favourites for both men, while others were new--Qrow sang one heart-aching ballad that Clover had never heard, and now Clover often found himself whistling its tune. For his part, Clover had sung a fast-paced angsty rock number, and it had since become Qrow’s preferred music for doing household chores.

The fugue shifted tone. High, staccato notes played far down the fingerboard danced delicately around each other. Clover remembered how he and Qrow had begun to sing together. His fingers plucked pizzicato tones that lingered in the air--the way Qrow’s fingers had lingered on his arm as they belted a chorus. Clover grinned, as a rapid run of short notes flowed from the cello. He brought the bow back to the strings, and both voices resumed their increasingly intricate melodic play. 

He had felt so comfortable with Qrow. He had been nervous before the date--had still wondered if Qrow could like him for who he was. Singing together, though, he had not felt alone. Both men had let their guard down, and let the other in. 

Clover’s bow raced across the strings. He remembered the duets they had sung, and his fingers flitted across the fingerboard as the fugue’s voices tossed the theme back and forth. He had felt such a deep connection to Qrow, as they sang separate parts of duets and effortlessly played off of each other. Each rapid turn of notes in one voice provoked an answer from the other, the melody leaping from low voice to high voice, each borrowing its tone and emotion from the other. 

Their breathing synced, their fingers entwined together as their voices wrapped around each other. Clover’s bow pulled broad, vigorous strokes across the strings as the piece built in a long crescendo. Clover’s heart had raced as their voices built perfect harmonies, each confident in his own voice and trusting the other to be there with his own part. They had come together as the duet built to its climax, holding each other close and locking eyes as their voices flowed together.

They had seen the desire in each other’s eyes, felt the yearning in each other’s voices as they met mellifluously in the harmonies of the song’s final refrain.

They released the final notes, and rested their foreheads against each other, drawing deep breaths as the magic of the music hung in the air around them. Clover had pressed forward and nuzzled Qrow’s nose with his own, and then they had come together into a kiss--their first. 

Their lips met softly at first, exploring new territory, then more confidently. Clover had pulled Qrow in closer, as they leaned into the warmth of the embrace, and then lowered themselves to the couch behind them, laughing as they lost their balance and fell the final few inches to the cushions, before continuing their breathless exploration. Earnest fingers ran through soft hair, and long kisses turned to short pecks, eager and full of affection. Qrow’s red eyes had twinkled with delight as they revelled in their newfound connection, and Clover had grinned, before diving back in with a deep kiss. 

Eventually, breathlessly, they had pulled apart. 

Clover pulled the bow across the strings in four large, broad strokes, as he came to the final notes of the fugue, four triumphantly dominant notes, and ended on the tonic, a long, reverberating tone that filled the air with decisive finality.

The final sounds hung in the air, as the resonant wood of the cello carried the note long after Clover had lifted his bow. The soft sea breeze played across Clover’s lips, the way he had felt the touch of Qrow’s lips on his own even after they had separated. 

Clover inhaled deeply, then exhaled. His mind felt as clear and fresh as the air. 

He rose, cleaned his bow, placed the instrument in its case, and folded the stool. 

He took one last deep breath as he hoisted the cello’s case onto his back. Today was the day, and Qrow would be waiting for him.

As he made his descent, carefully sidestepping puddles, pushing through the juniper bushes, he slipped his hand into his pocket, and closed it around the comforting weight of the engagement ring.

**Author's Note:**

> I had an enormous amount of fun writing this fic, and I hope you had fun reading it! In particular, I had a great time exploring how the fugue as a musical form could translate to literature, and found myself trying to work it into the writing in every way I could--the different foci of the narrative (the hike, the music, the date, Clover's emotions), the sequence of events in the date itself, the kiss scene, the overall organisation of the fic in terms of _how_ the focus switches, word choice, and sentence structure, etc. I may at some point upload a second chapter that is just the fic, annotated with explanations of the ways in which the fugue theme shows up in different ways. For readers who are not music theory nerds, a fugue is a musical form dating back to the Baroque period and slightly earlier, made most famous by JS Bach, in which a single theme is stated, and then is repeated by two more voices, each time with a different variation--those variations may include things like shifting to a different key or tonal mode (e.g. major to minor), simply shifting to a different voice, inverting the theme (literally turning it upside down), playing it backwards, playing it against a counterpoint melody, etc. Fugues are an absolute delight to listen to, and if you want a sense of what the piece Clover played might have sounded like (it was not unfortunately a real piece), I highly recommend listening to the performance I linked in the foreword.


End file.
